Arise From Ashes
by Inflorescences
Summary: When fifteen year old mercenary Harry Elder took the job, he didn't expect his world to flipped upside down. Trained by the man who raised him away from his fate, he has no idea what his destiny holds. His latest mission? Protect Alix Bonhomme, a Tri-Wizard hopeful. Little does he know that a seemingly simple mission will lead to the family reunion of a lifetime. Wrong BWL. AU.
1. Chapter One: Violon D'Ingres

Cub's first mistake was taking the job. His second was finally accepting the title of a Royal. His third was agreeing to attend Beauxbatons.

While he knew the job would come with several problems, he knew there was a lead to finding a certain man through the Tournament. And by becoming a Royal, he knew he wouldn't have to worry about any other mercenaries crouching in on his territory throughout the duration of the job. At the time, it seemed to be perfect- and Beauxbatons just threw everything together.

Trained to be cautious and clever from a young age, Cub took in all the risks and found them all to be worth it- at the time.

Hindsight could be a bitch.

* * *

Harry Elder, better known as Cub, walked into the high class office with a swish of a grey cloak and an air of power. His eyes, a deep, surprising green shone from within the shadowed cowl. Little, besides a strong, aquiline nose could be seen of his face. A flick of his hand and the door closed behind him with a near-silent click.

Claude Bonhomme, the French Minister of Magic, looked up.

"Cub?" he asked cautiously, blue eyes narrowing. The figure inclined his head. Blue eyes widened for a moment, then the minister seemed to remember himself. "Sit down, please."

"I prefer to stand," Cub said softly.

"Of course, of course," said Bonhomme quickly. "Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee? Firewhiskey?"

"No," said Cub. His hand disappeared into his robes and he withdrew a flask, ignoring Bonhomme's flinch. "I've learned that an unattended glass leaves too many opportunities for poisoning."

Bonhomme swallowed, chills running down his spine. "Ah," he managed.

"What do you want?" Cub asked, leaning against the wall. "I doubt you have called me here early simply to exchange pleasantries. We have already arranged our agreement, no?"

"Yes," said Bonhomme. "I simply wish to clear up a few details before you arrive."

"Understandable," Cub said, voice flat. Bonhomme swallowed.

"Well, as you know, I have contracted you to protect my daughters through the Tri-Wizard Tournament," he said, watching Cub for any reaction. When the mercenary did not move, he continued. "I have been pro-Muggle in my political stance for a while now and I am gaining many enemies. My eldest, Olaf, was nearly killed already. I fear for my children's lives."

"Why do you not step down?" Cub asked.

"It would not remove the enemies," said Bonhomme. "And I could do no good." His eyes hardened. "My wife has already been killed," he added darkly. "I will not allow anymore of my family to die."

"Continue."

Bonhomme blinked, confused.

"What details do you want cleared up?" Cub said, crossing his arms. Bonhomme nodded quickly.

"How do you wish to be introduced to the girls?"

"Alphonse Alain Travert," said Cub promptly. "Al for short. I am the son of your English cousin whose parents recently died in a _tragic_ train accident. I have no family in England, so I have come to live with my godfather. Mother never told you nor I of our relation and I only learned through her will."

"Acceptable. How old will you be?"

'Al' pondered this for a moment. "Hmm...the girls are seventh and fifth years, correct?"

"Yes."

'Al' nodded. "I'll be a seventh year- sixteen years old."

"Can you pass for sixteen?"

Cub nodded. "I'm certainly short enough," he said. He raised an eyebrow. "But you knew that already, or why would you have contacted me in particular? For what position you want me to be in?"

Bonhomme had no response, so he simply sipped his coffee.

Cub sighed, taking a sip from his hip flask. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Au revoir," said Bonhomme, returning to his native language.

The door drifted shut once more.

* * *

Cub threw his bag at the nearest chair, leapt onto his bed, and yanked off the heavy cloak the moment he knew his hotel room was secure. He was hot, irritable, and exhausted. While the meeting with Bonhomme was…tolerable, the goddamn cloak was not.

He could hear Father in his head now _. "Harry, stop whining."_ Or, _"Harry, you should be used to the cloak."_ Didn't mean Harry gave a damn.

Father always did say that Harry had a streak of independence a mile wide…

Harry took a swig of water and threw back his head. He absently waved a wand over his body, sighing as the glamours slicked off his body.

Black crept into blond before finally overtaking it and shortened to be cropped close to his head. His skin darkened several shades, from fair to a dark olive tan. Freckles faded.

"That's better," he muttered to himself. Thanks to Father, the glamours didn't risk taking too much magic anymore, but it was always nice to shrug off the sucking, _slurping_ feeling they gave-

 _And now_ Harry made himself feel sick. Who the hell ever came up with the word 'slurping'? Nasty.

For a moment, Harry just laid spread-eagle across the thick covers, eyes on the soft beige ceiling. He was so tired.

Harry snorted to himself, rolling onto his side to grab the muggle remote. He was always tired these days- not in a physical sense (unless a job required it)- but something more insidious. Maybe this mission to Beauxbatons would be a like a little vacation.

Flicking on the tellie, Harry rolled his eyes. As if. Trouble always came knocking on Harry Elder's door. He doubted the mission wouldn't be more of the same.

Harry flipped through the channels until he reached his quarry: Wheel of Fortune. As the episode played, he pulled out his mission briefing and read through.

Besides the TV, there was little other sound beside the dull roar of a busy city in the evening and the soft noises the papers made as Harry shuffled through them. While he already had the entire briefing memorized, he wanted one more read through before he burned them.

The twins, Alix and Amelie were seventh years at Beauxbatons. Both were wary of strangers and adored their older brother. Alix was the more athletic and popular of the two but Amelie was more cautious and powerful than her sister. Both knew of the Triwizard Tournament (how could they not with their father being the minister of magic?) but only Alix planned to enter, to Amelie's anger.

Catalina, the youngest, was a fifth year and very curious and friendly, apparently. Harry would have to take care to keep that friendly curiosity towards his benefit.

Finally, the Triwizard Tournament- apparently, Bonhomme pulled some strings to have it hosted in Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts. He pointed out that it was technically Beauxbatons turn to host even though Hogwarts traditionally started a new cycle. Harry wasn't sure if it was Olaf's near-assassination or his hiring that got the man to make the Tournament closer to home, but it made his job easier.

Would Harry be entering the contest?

 _Hell_ no. Not only would that possibly alienate Alix (let alone if he was _actually picked_ ), it would draw highly unwanted interest towards his person- something he was hoping to avoid at all costs. Plus, he heard rumors that there would be an age limit, and while _Alphonse_ might be old enough, _Harry_ certainly was not.

He _was_ only fifteen, after all.

Closing the folder, Harry pulled out his wand and walked to the small bathroom. Holding the paper over the sink, he casted a quiet fire spell and watched the paper burn to ashes. Washing it down the sink, he clapped his hands and proceeded to his nightly ritual- various spells and pre-made temporary runes- he'd have to get Bloodjaw to owe him another favor, he was running low on those- as well as setting the hotel clock to wake him up every few hours, and proceeded to conk out.

He had a busy day tomorrow, after all.

Harry closed his eyes and hoped for sweet dreams.

* * *

 _Empty rooms and blood soaked hands as Father whispered to run, run, run- where's Father? Find him, it's YOUR fault-_

He woke for the last time seconds before the alarm clock went off. Sweaty and shaken, he slapped the snooze button and flopped back onto the sheets. He stared up at the ceiling once more, an uneasy, uncomfortable tightness (guilt? fear? anger?) twisting deep within his gut. His father's dark eyes flashed in his mind's eye and Harry's own intense green eyes sharpened.

 _I will find you, Father,_ he vowed silently to himself for perhaps the five hundredth time as morning light crept through the curtains. _I promise._


	2. Chapter 2: Plus ça change, plus c

Alphonse Alain Travert, or rather, Harry Elder, stepped out of the limousine with almost feline grace. A bag draped itself across his back, and a shock of blond hair fell across stunning cobalt blue eyes. He walked forward with a confident grin as he basked in the hot August sun. If one looked very closely and were sensitive to magic, they might notice a faint shimmer about his body- but at the current temperature 40° C, one could easily pass it off as a heat wave.

His eyes, intelligent and perceptive, swept the grounds- the vibrant green grass, small fountain, gardens- and he caught the sweeping curtain on the third floor and a flash of brown hair. Turning, he raised one lightly tanned hand to the limo and didn't bother to watch it go. Just before he reached the stairs, the elegant white doors opened to reveal Claude Bonhomme, dressed in voluminous sky-blue dress robes.

"Alphonse!" Claude greeted, smiling. "Bonjour. Come in, come in."

The man ushered Harry inside, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. A servant behind them waved a wand and the doors drifted shut. Another servant, this a young woman, stepped forward to take his bag.

"Merci," Harry said with a slight bow of his head. The girl, blushing, took the bag and hurried away. Harry turned to look at his employer. "Good morning, uncle."

He flashed the small signet ring on his middle finger, letting the older man recognize that it was truly Harry and not an imposter. Claude nodded his head almost imperceptibly. He turned to the servant who had opened the door.

In fast paced French, Claude requested that his daughters be brought down- however, just as the servant turned to walk towards the grand staircase just beyond the entryway, a teen appeared at the top of the steps.

"Papa? Quel était ce bruit?" the girl called- Alix, Harry realized. She quickly hurried down the steps, passing the servant. Her dark blue eyes latched onto Harry almost immediately.

"Your cousin, Alphonse," Claude said, in English. The girl's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms across her chest, tilting her head to get the dark strands of hair out of her eyes.

"I have no cousin named Alphonse," she said in somewhat-accented English.

"You do," said Claude, patting Harry's shoulder. "Vous faites."

"Alix? Que se passe-t-il?" another girl called, her voice almost musical. "Avice dit qu'il y avait un garçon?"

"C'est exact," Harry said loudly, watching curiously as a girl nearly identical to Alix joined them in the entryway. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun. "It is nice to meet you. You must be Amélie and Alix."

"English?" Amélie asked. "What is a English boy to do here?"

"Je suis votre cousin, Alphonse Travert. Call me Al," Harry said, smiling at the girls.

"C'est impossible," Alix said stubbornly, shaking her head.

"Mon enfant," said Claude, drawing the three teens' attention. "Alphonse's mother was my cousin. She and husband moved to England before you were born."

"Then why is he here?" Amélie asked. Harry averted his eyes, letting a dark shadow cast across his face.

Patting Harry's shoulder gently, Claude said, "His parents have died. He is staying with us until he comes of age this summer."

The twins' eyes widened before softening in sympathy. Amélie stepped forward and offered, "Our mother has died too."

Harry nodded, accepting the words for what they were- an expression of understanding.

The sound of footsteps alerted the small group to the impending arrival of the youngest of the Bonhomme girls- Catalina.

"Papa, j'étais occupé. Désolé-" She spotted Harry, freezing in her tracks. "C'est le garçon?"

"Oui," Claude said. "Votre cousin, Alphonse, fils de mon cousin."

"It is nice to meet you," Harry said, taking her hand and kissing it. Catalina smiled at him, a strand of hair falling in front of blue eyes so dark they nearly appeared black.

"And you as good," Catalina said. "Well?"

"Well," Harry corrected mildly. Catalina smiled warmly in response.

With that, they transitioned into French as the group wandered up the stairs.

"Your room is at the end of the hallway," said Claude, gesturing towards the vanilla-colored door appearing to be tightly shut. "Supper is at 8, servants will offer breakfast at 8 in the morning, and lunch is usually served at noon. If you require a servant to help you unpack, ring them."

"Thank you," Harry said, ducking his head. He shot a charming smile at the girls standing a bit down the hall. "I look forward to seeing you at supper then."

"Well then," said Claude, turning to go back downstairs. "Goodbye."

Harry just gave a short little wave and bowed slightly to the girls. "See you later."

"Want help?" Catalina asked curiously, tilting her head so that brown hair fell into her dark eyes.

"I'm alright, thanks," Harry said, shrugging. "I'll see you later?'

"Alright," Alix said, grabbing her sisters' hands and marching towards her bedroom. "See you."

"Alix?" Catalina yelped as she was spun around. "What-"

"Meeting," Alix said shortly as Amélie sighed and accepted her fate.

Harry raised an eyebrow and walked into his room, shaking his head at the antics of the sisters.

The room was a soft, creamy blue. One large window, this in a gold-tinted cream, adorned the far wall as white, thin curtains fluttered against the opened pane. A huge ornate bed dominated one corner of the room, a small mountain of pillows spilling across the headboard. On a coffee table near the bed sat Harry's bags.

"Home sweet home," he muttered. With a flick of his wrist, his wand slid smoothly into his hand and he swirled it once in the air; nothing.

Evidently, Claude had not found it necessary to magically bug Harry's room. Naive, but helpful for Harry, he supposed.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered how Claude had managed to convince Amélie to attend Hogwarts for at least a month or so while Alix tried for the Triwizard Cup. Catalina was easy- apparently, she was incredibly curious, which Harry, having now met her, was not surprised by. But Amélie- she was the difficult one. Cautious. Careful. She would rather stay home where she understands how things work than try something new. He wondered if Claude had promised her a flying carpet.

Shrugging, Harry continued casting spells and pacing the perimeter of the room, until finally, having cast a complex locking spell, he let his glamours slough off. He had perhaps four hours to kill and at least one of them would be spent studying Hogwarts and Beauxbatons in preparation for the Tournament.

Harry's fingers slowly traced the long, curling letters inscribing his father's name in the cover. He wondered how old Father was when he'd first picked up the book. Wondered if he'd stolen it from Hogwart's library.

Wondered if his father ever even thought about him anymore.

Tired green eyes scanned the age-worn pages as the clock slowly ticked away, a quiet symphony to itself. A dark hand pressed against a chiseled jaw as he yawned, nights of sleeplessness catching up bit by bit. Each bit of information, each map ingrained themselves in his mind until Harry could point out every weakness in the castle's design.

As he swapped to Hogwarts, A History, Harry paused on the section about the Boy Who Lived.

"Edward," Harry muttered, one dark eyebrow raised. Four pictures sat side by side on the annually-updating book. The first was labeled, 'one year old'. A small toddler had his arms wrapped around the baby, head cropped out except for a broad, baby-toothed smile. Idly, he wondered who the kid was. Next to it, labeled, 'first year', was a shot of Edward in Diagon Alley, hair wild and body so thin and small it looked like a strong wind could blow him over. His eyes were full of both caution and wonder. He was hardly the image the papers and books seemed to portray him as. The second was labeled, 'second year' and showed Edward laughing with two other students, and the third Edward a bit older and sadder, talking to a professor.

Though Harry had never said it aloud, he'd always felt a sort of pull towards the 'Boy Who Lived'- a title almost as ridiculous as any of the ones he'd earned of the years. It was silly, but sometimes, when Harry was younger and lonely, he'd have dreams of a red-haired woman and dark haired baby while men shouted jovially in the background.

Most of the dreams were peaceful and happy, but most was not all. Sometimes, he'd dream of Avada Kedavra and screams. Explosions. Fire.

The one time he'd gotten up the courage to ask Father about the nightmares, he'd said that an enemy had attacked a safe house when he was little and that the woman screaming had been his mother, who died shortly after. Immediately after, he'd warned Harry to stay as far away from Dementors as he was capable of, as he was likely to have a strong reaction and risk losing his soul. Harry, somehow, had managed this.

Harry set aside the book, shaking his head. He'd never met Edward Potter, and chances were, he never would. There was no point in pursuing it.

Rolling onto his back, Harry flopped his head onto the pillow, groaning through his teeth. He glanced out the window, letting the air brush across his face. Maybe a walk was what he needed.

Somersaulting to his feet, Harry reapplied the glamours and slipped out the door, intending to head for the garden he'd seen in the plans Claude'd sent him ahead of time. While Harry could never be accused of having a green thumb, something about being in the fresh air amongst nature calmed him like nothing else.

Despite the grandness of the mansion, Harry quickly reached the backdoor, the knobs at the very least plated in gold. He rolled his eyes at the excessive wealth displayed in even the smallest things and pushed open the doors.

The sweet smell of summer rushed him and Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the breeze tousle his hair. At night neared, the oppressive heat of the French summer had mellowed to a much more comfortable temperature.

Harry began to wander in between both local and exotic plants. While many of the brightest and most beautiful flowers and plants had faded with the rapidly approaching fall, there was a still an admirable collection of blooms.

A sudden movement caught his eyes. Harry turned on his heel, eyes narrowing.

"Oh," he said as he took in the pink and green plants.

They were venus fly traps, like the ones Father cultivated. Father'd had a fascination for carnivorous plants and succulents. As a child, Harry was afraid of the plants- had even had some nightmares, in fact.

Glancing up at the sky, Harry startled to see streaks of yellow and orange. His eyes darted down to his watch and he swore softly. Somehow, it was already almost eight- and dinner would be soon.

As Harry turned away from the garden, he didn't notice the swish of curtains shutting on the second floor.

* * *

 **TRANSLATION** :

*note, I know very little French, most of it picked up from friends. After this chapter, the characters will be speaking almost entirely in 'French', aka English, until the Tournament begins- I'll only use French if the characters are speaking English and throw in a French word.

Bonjour- Hello/Good day

Merci- Thank you (formal)

Père- Father

Quel était ce bruit?- What was that noise?

Que se passe-t-il ?- What's going on?

Avice dit qu'il y avait un garçon?- Avice said there was a boy?

C'est exact- That's correct/that's right

Je suis votre cousin- I am your cousin

C'est impossible- That's impossible

Mon enfant- My child

Papa, j'étais occupé. Désolé- Father, I was busy. Sorry-

C'est le garçon?- This is the boy?

Oui- Yes

Votre cousin- Your cousin.

Fils de mon cousin- Son of my cousin


End file.
